As she started to come to, Claire realized it wasn't bright anymore and the air was heavier now. While it didn't smell of smoke, it seemed like it somehow should. She felt oddly drained for someone that spent the better part of a day doing nothing but falling through the sky and opening her eyes seemed like a chore, so she postponed it, trying to take in as many details as she could with her other senses. She wasn't sure how much time had passed. She was laying on a rough stone floor of some kind that felt like it had been warmed by the sun. In the distance she could hear…were those explosions?
Claire winced and brought a hand to her head, sitting up felt like she'd been hit by a truck.
"Oh good," crackled a voice to her right, brimming with radio static. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever wake up."
Claire tensed, eyes snapping open to focus on the speaker. How had she not noticed she wasn't alone? He was tall and thin and—red. Red eyes in an impossibly pale face, red hair bordered with black that stuck up in two places akin to ears. He was meticulously dressed in a pinstriped suit, also red, and his fingers tapped atop a—was that a microphone?
"Where am I?" she asked cautiously, a hand out for the low wall to help her get to her feet. She was steadier than she thought, but one couldn't be too careful.
The red man gestured to the view behind her, "See for yourself."
Keeping herself half facing him, Claire turned her head to see a city laid out before her beyond the edge of the building. Some of it in ruins, some of it brightly lit, most of it in subtle and not-so-subtle shades of red, all beneath a brightly lit sign that read: Welcome to Hell.
"Finally," she breathed in relief, turning back to the man in red with a carefully composed expression, "You're the one who caught me earlier. Weren't you taller?"
"Ha, you're welcome," he said, giving his staff a little twirl before leaning on it with both hands, "I daresay you do know how to make an entrance."
Claire turned fully towards him, talking a bit more with her hands to appear a touch more friendly than she felt, "Sorry, I should've started with a thank you. Being dead is not what I expected so far."
It was hard to say whether the man's eyes or smile lit up first, "Ah," his voice carried just a touch of predatory undertone, "You'renew. It's been awhile since I met one of those. I'm curious, what is it that you expected?"
"Fire. More Tartarus than Inferno. Some eternal boulder rolling or at least eternal tax forms." Claire quipped, keeping most of her attention on him while also trying to take in the area around her. From the view earlier she knew she had to be high up on some kind of roof. It appeared one of two ways out was a doorway behind the man, clearly marked with an 'exit' sign. Red of course. The other being a long drop over the edge of the building.
She was going to have to keep him talking until she could get to that door.
"Or is this a Hell is other people thing? Are you here to torment me?" She asked, making sure her tone was light and amiable, with just the slightest edge of good natured humor to it. "Or am I here to tormentyou?"
His already large smile widened, "Oh, you'refunny. But no," He shook his head with a shrug of his shoulders, "the proprietor of this hotel frowns upon tormenting people at all, as entertaining as that might be."
"This is a hotel?" Claire couldn't quite keep the genuine surprised from her voice.
"The Hazbin Hotel! Where desperate sinners come to find those with likeminded delusions of redemption and other nonsense." While he didn't roll his eyes, the derision in his voice did it for him.
It almost made Claire smile, but instead she folded her arms. "Interesting pitch. I'm guessing you're not in marketing?"
As if he had been expecting this question, he twirled his staff and offered out his hand with a flourish, "I'm in radio! But we weren't properly introduced when you fell from the sky. I'm Alastor, the hotelier of this misguided establishment. And who might you be?"
She should have been expecting that question, but it somehow still caught her off guard and after a momentary pause offered out her own hand in return as she said, "Claire."
The second his hand clasped hers it was enveloped in a flare of white light, a glimmer of green lighting up his eyes. It was alarming enough to send Claire scrambling back a few steps, wrenching her hand out of his grip and clasping it at the wrist, causing the light to immediately fade.
With wide eyes Claire examined her hand, which seemed utterly normal now. Not one glow or glimmer. Not even a tingle. "—did I just hurt you?" she asked uncertainly, turning her hand this way and that.
Alastor watched her with open interest, "Quite the opposite in fact. I feel inspired. Rejuvenated, even. HowAREyou doing that?"
Claire looked with growing distrust at both of her hands, which had always seemed so normal before all of this. "…I don't even know what I'm doing," she said honestly.
"Well, you'll fit right in here then. But-" Alastor turned away, starting for that exit door and raising his right hand as he snapped his fingers. Claire sucked in a sharp breath as her hands were suddenly covered with dainty black gloves, the wrists trimmed in black lace embroidered with mystical looking green symbols.
"A little insurance until you do," Alastor finished, with a little half-nod towards her before continuing towards the door. He pulled it open and looked at her expectantly, "Come along, we've wasted enough time up here already."
More than slightly distracted by the suddenly appearing gloves, Claire turned her hands back and forth once again and then walked towards the open door. It was, after all, the preferred exit. The gloves felt like they were real. A smooth, thin cloth with lace so fine it felt silky rather than itchy against her skin. Like they came from an upscale store rather than having been conjured out of thin air.
She wasn't sure what to think of it all, so instead focused her attention on her surroundings. The stairs led down and into a hallway that very much seemed to belong to a hotel. The carpet was worn and red, the walls had a rich tapestry design on the wallpaper. Numbered doors dotted the walls every few feet. He hadn't been lying about that, at least.
"So you're in radio and you do magic," she said as they headed down the hall, "And for some reason I do too. Does everyone in Hell get some kind of magical power?"
Sounding almost disinterested, Alastor didn't look at her as he answered, "No. Down here power is earned, not some innate thing one appears with."
"But I appeared with something," Claire pressed, flexing her newly gloved fingers.
Alastor stopped and turned towards her, leaning in close with a conspiratorial smile, "Let's keep that between you and me for now until we know what it is exactly."
Claire narrowed her eyes at him and leaned away, "...why?"
While Alastor shrugged and that ever present smile remained in place, he watched her very carefully as he straightened up. "Wouldn't want someone to take advantage of your ignorance on the inner-workings of Hell on your very first day."
"And I should trust you, the demonic radio stranger I met five minutes ago, about this because...?" Claire asked, giving him a skeptical look.
"I could've just let you fall." Alastor drawled.
It was a good point and now Claire's turn to shrug as she considered it, "Fair enough."
"Splendid!" Alastor said with a twirl of his staff, turning to continue down the hallway, "Now let's introduce you to all the others and get you settled in."
Claire hesitated a moment more, before skipping a few steps to try to catch up to him. "Others?"